


The Chauffeur

by Blue_Finch



Series: More Than Partners [7]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is attracted to Harold's many aliases and to the man himself.<br/>Harold wants and loves John Reese but is afraid to admit it.<br/>It's all games until Harold is kidnapped.<br/>Alone in a safe house John cares for the rescued but sick Finch.<br/>The men learn love goes both ways.</p><p>Hope you enjoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parking

**Author's Note:**

> A little naughtiness this first chapter lol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mr. Crane was out of the car and ready to walk into the building he instructed, “Mr. Reeves, be here at 4pm sharp. I will not allow these meetings to last beyond that.” Crane limped away, his gold cane catching glints of sunshine and reflecting them into the eyes of several beefy young men leaving a bail bondsman's office.
> 
> The gentlemen in question had just posted bail. They looked to the Lincoln the old man left and saw the driver straighten his suit. The cripple and the driver both looked like they had been locking lips for sometime.
> 
> The voices of Crane and Reeves carried to the men. Crane telling Reeves he would walk to the restaurant down the street when the chauffeur had inquired if Crane needed driven anywhere for lunch.
> 
> One of the men then consorted with his none too bright partners in crime that maybe the gimp might not make it to lunch and pretty boy might pay something to get his boss back.

 

Mr. John Reeves parked the car to drop off his employer, Mr. Crane at the corner next to his building. John, chauffeur to Mr. Crane for a little over a year, turned in his seat and rolled down the privacy screen. “How we doing Harold?”

Harold Crane pinched his lips together, “Fine, _Mister_ Reeves can you get my door? Like a proper chauffeur.”

John smirked, “Come on Finch. Nobody here but us chickens. Your meeting might take all day, but we got here so early we might want to really use the car for something,” John’s voice dropped to a low purr, “nice”

Harold looked at John blankly and then blinked. John grinned and got out of the car. Instead of going to Harold's side he jumped in the back. Harold was startled, holding his briefcase up as if to fend off an attacker. John pulled the case away and placed it on the floorboard. He gathered Harold into his arms and nuzzled a side-burn. “Couldn't we maybe have Mr. Crane show up for the monthly progress report ruffled and obviously back from a sexual encounter?”

Harold was flustered, which happened every time John was so near. “It...it would be unprofessional to..to “ He trailed off as John captured his lips in a comforting and loving kiss.

Harold slid his hands between their bodies, flattening his hands on John’s chest intending to push him away. He couldn’t help but feel the rapid beating of John’s heart beneath the palm of his hand. Instead of rebuffing John, Harold curled his fingers into the lapels of crisp black uniform shirt that Mr. Reeves wore, pulling him even closer.

John, sensing Harold’s resistance to his advances fading with those hands clenching tighter, stifled a groan and deepened the kiss. Harold’s whimper of need trembled against his _employee’s_ mouth and belied his own words when they broke from the kiss to breathe. Harold gasped huskily, “Mr. Reeves, this…this...behavior is unacceptable.”

“Yes, Mr. Crane, you...are...right.” John resumed his worship of a sideburn while murmuring in Harold’s ear, “Since I assume I will be getting fired for sexual harassment, I might as well make my impending unemployment worthwhile.”

Ignoring Finch’s yelp of surprise, John cradled one arm around Harold’s back and slid the other under his lover’s knees. He scooped his _boss_ onto his lap. Harold huffed out indignantly,”What...what are you doing? Are you out of your mind?”

John slid his arm from under Harold’s legs and moved it to join the other, embracing Harold and pulling them both back onto the seat.  “I’m harassing you,” John teased, grinned and winked up at Crane’s heated face. “And yes, I am.”  

John ran his hands seductively up Harold’s back, lightly caressed his neck. With fingers threading through the soft brown hair, he gently pulled a still huffy Mr. Crane to face him and lightly kiss.

Harold moved his hands that were trapped between their two bodies to make a half-hearted attempt at pushing himself up and away. However, his desire to kiss John back defeated all the pretense of being the incensed employer. “We can’t do this,” he feebly protested, then groaned, “John.’’ He moved his hands up to the sides of the other man’s face and firmly kissed him back.

The reminder tone blaring annoyingly from Crane’s cell phone interrupted them, finally putting an end to the increasingly intense and heavy petting going on between the two men in the back seat of a Lincoln Limo in broad daylight on a busy city street. It was John who reluctantly positioned Harold back on the seat beside him. John cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure, ”Mr. Crane, you are due for your meeting in thirty minutes.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Harold admitted regretfully, his voice still gravelly from his desire. Harold put his hand on John’s knee reassuredly, when he looked over and saw the startled look on the man’s face when John realized he might have gone too far. “You’re not getting fired,” He said and smiled his half smile at his _chauffeur_.

They spent the next ten minutes straightening up ruffled clothing, John buttoning up his uniform shirt undone by Harold's seeking hands at some point and combing mussed hair. When both men were presentable with no evidence of arousal, John opened the door to get out and walked around to Harold’s side, opening the door for him.

John had covertly look around for any prying eyes but the streets were still fairly empty for that time of morning and the few people he did see were hurriedly on their way to somewhere, too wrapped up with themselves to have taken time out to watch two men in a car. “No prying eyes,” he murmured to Harold as he helped his boss out of the car.

When Mr. Crane was out of the car and ready to walk into the building he instructed, “Mr. Reeves, be here at 4pm sharp. I will not allow these meetings to last beyond that.” Crane limped away, his gold cane catching glints of sunshine and reflecting them into the eyes of several beefy young men leaving a bail bondsman's office.

The gentlemen in question had just posted bail. They looked to the Lincoln the old man left and saw the driver straighten his suit. The cripple and the driver both looked like they had been locking lips for sometime.

The voices of Crane and Reeves carried to the men. Crane telling Reeves he would walk to the restaurant down the street when the chauffeur had inquired if Crane needed driven anywhere for lunch.

One of the men then consorted with his none too bright partners in crime that maybe the gimp might not make it to lunch and pretty boy might pay something to get his boss back.

~ * ~


	2. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold had also made another decision that morning, although it had nothing to do with business. Finch had come to an understanding. Even though he was still completely bewildered why someone like John would ever be interested in him, Finch knew Reese was very interested as evidenced by the hardness jutting into his own backside this morning. Harold was determined to find out why John would only show his attraction when both men were playing a role.
> 
> Waiting to cross the street, Harold was preparing to pull his cell phone out of his coat pocket to ask John to dinner. At that moment, a late model van rounded the corner nearly running him down as it stopped on the curb in front of him. Before he could shout out in surprise or for help, someone grabbed him from behind while another man opened the van door. Two other men, one on each side of Finch, grabbed a leg and the three hoisted him into the back then jumped inside. The van sped off as one of the men slammed the door shut.
> 
> Harold only heard a few words of the kidnappers’ demands before whatever they had injected him with knocked him out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this shouldn't have taken this long.
> 
> Just this weather, cold and flu viruses and RL have me in such a funk.

Harold Crane sat at the head of the long conference table but to the right of the CEO of Crane Investments.  Richard Asherton had been Harold’s friend as well as Nathan’s for over twenty years. They had first met during the startup phase of IFT and had worked along with Nathan, teaching him the business end of the ropes. Even in later years, after Nathan became the corporate beard of IFT, Asherton stayed on as Ingram’s right hand man. He’d never questioned why Harold wished only to be seen as Ingram’s IT guy and not as his partner.

Neither did Asherton question why after eleven years of IFT’s success he was made CEO of Crane Investments. Richard just took the fledgling company as he had IFT and made it the business juggernaut it was today. When IFT basically shut down operations while The Machine was being built, Asherton’s business genius kept them all afloat. Except for John Reese, Asherton was the only person alive that knew Harold Crane really didn’t exist. For all these reasons, Harold trusted the man almost as much as he had trusted Nathan himself.

All that trust came with a price; Harold was bored senseless. His mind kept wandering to earlier in the car. Before Harold even knew it, they were all breaking for lunch.

Still in the haze of his daydream, Harold mindlessly walked to a tea and sandwich shop several blocks from his building. So preoccupied with his musings, Harold did not see the four men following him. He used Mr. Crane’s cane heavily. With his $10,000 suit, 24kt gold topped cane and pronounced limp, it was obvious that not only could Harold not defend himself but he was worth a large fortune. Harold Crane was a perfect mark.

Harold didn’t mind the walk to _Tilley's._ His hip was throbbing from sitting just those few hours in one of the least ergonomic chairs his company’s supply department could find. Crane would have to make sure that situation would be rectified before their next board meeting in thirty days. Though he only spent maybe eight hours a month sitting in it, he would have his secretary order a duplicate of the one in Crane’s office. The dark chocolate and butter-soft leather covered a high-back chair built to accommodate Harold's injuries, but so exquisitely designed it exuded power like the man that rarely sat in it.

That decision made, Harold focused a bit more on stretching his legs. Finch hated taking the _Lortabs_ he had been prescribed for pain. He didn’t like the way the drug sometimes dulled his senses as well as the pain. Harold hoped the combination of an exercising walk, a fresh cup _Earl Gray_ with one of the delicious watercress sandwiches _Tilley's_ served and the half-dose of the _Lortabs_  he'd taken earlier would have him prepared to sit through four more hours of meetings. Four hours that he really needed to focus on business, not today's early morning activities with his _chauffeur_.

Harold had also made another decision that morning, although it had nothing to do with business. Finch had come to an understanding. Even though he was still completely bewildered why someone like John would ever be interested in him, Finch knew Reese was very interested as evidenced by the hardness jutting into his own backside this morning. Harold was determined to find out why John would only show his attraction when both men were playing a role.

Harold wanted John Reese, not Reeves or Riley or Rooney or Warren. Just John Reese, and Finch planned to show him. What frightened Harold was the possibility of discovering that John didn’t want the man he knew as Finch. Crane, or Wren, or Gull or even Howard French might be the only ones John wanted. Harold didn’t want to play any more games, tonight he would have to know.

Waiting to cross the street, Harold was preparing to pull his cell phone out of his coat pocket to ask John to dinner. At that moment, a late model van rounded the corner nearly running him down as it stopped on the curb in front of him. Before he could shout out in surprise or for help, someone grabbed him from behind while another man opened the van door. Two other men, one on each side of Finch, grabbed a leg and the three hoisted him into the back then jumped inside. The van sped off as one of the men slammed the door shut.

One of them roughly jerked Finch up into a sitting position, another started going through Harold’s pockets. Finding only a little over four hundred dollars and a few credit cards in Crane’s wallet, the man pocketed the cash and tossed the wallet on the floor. When he found Harold’s cell he angrily shoved it in Finch’s face and menacingly growled at Harold. “Four hundred dollars isn’t enough to save you.  Let’s get all we can out of you, Gimp. You’re gonna call your pretty friend and he’s gonna bring us some real dough.

Harold tried to swallow but his throat was drying up and closing from the panic he felt. Finch choked and stammered out, “I need to call my company. If I don’t come back they’ll phone the police. The man I’m calling won’t do anything that I don’t tell him to do. He can contact my driver. Mr. Reeves will then bring you whatever you want.”

The apparent leader of the group pointed a gun in Harold’s face and threatened with a scowl, “Make the call. No tricks.”

When Harold was finally able to speak with Asherton, he had was only allowed to say, “Richard, call John Reese…” before the phone was yanked out of his hands and a needle jabbed in his thigh.

Harold only heard a few words of the kidnappers’ demands before whatever they had injected him with knocked him out cold.

~~*~~

 


	3. Someone To Talk To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw smiled and winked at him, then suggested. “Leave Bear here with me tonight. You have time to go get something to make him a nice romantic dinner. Take Harold to your place, John Reese’s home. Wine and dine him, then just tell him how you feel.”
> 
> John frowned, doubting it could be that simple. “Shaw thank you for the….”
> 
> John’s cell phone’s ring tone interrupted him before he could finish. John recognized Asherton’s phone number and answered, “This is Reese.”
> 
> Shaw watched John’s face ashen and when John terminated the call, she anxiously asked, “What’s wrong?”
> 
> It was unreal to hear John Reese answer in a strangled panicky voice, “They've got Harold!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really apologize for the delay.  
> Forgive me?

_John Reeves_ sat for a few moments watching his boss, _Harold Crane_ , limp towards the building Crane Investments was located in. There were other businesses with floors in the building, Crane Investments’ holdings no doubt, but the majority of the twenty story office highrise was occupied by his boss’s company.

John Reese had to wait to make sure Harold Finch, another alias of Harold’s he was sure, but the one that was real to John, made it into the building okay. He also had to once again cool down. Watching Harold’s fine retreating backside and thinking about their earlier backseat encounter combined to cause another tightening in the crotch of his not so crisp and now slightly wrinkled uniform slacks.

 _Reeves_ could still taste the combination of green tea, donut icing, and mint when Harold had opened his mouth to allow John’s tongue to plunder there. John could still feel the buttons of his uniform shirt being hastily undone by Harold's impatient fingers and hands pushing up John’s undershirt for those fingers to brush up and down his chest and sides.

If it hadn’t been for that blasted alarm. It was a mood breaker to be sure, but maybe a savior in a way. Five more minutes of Harold touching him, squirming on his lap and pressing John’s hand on his own arousal, might have been too much for John’s control. He would have had _Crane’s_ fly open and Harold in hand right there in the car. John knew he would have come in his own pants watching Harold shoot his semen over John’s hand.

 _Reeves_ wasn’t shocked by what he had done when Harold had said, “You’re not fired.” John Reese was mortified that he had been in that back seat in the first place. _John Reeves_ couldn’t resist it though. The smell of Harold’s cologne wafting in the closed air of the limo’s interior and watching Crane in his bespoke suit, matching shirt, tie, and pocket square, all John’s favorites, in the rear view mirror was a temptation too strong to resist.

After Harold had been safely inside the building for several minutes, John felt he had cooled off enough to drive to the detailer’s to have the limo washed, waxed, and vacuumed. He started up the car and drove off.

On the drive to _Valero’s Car Wash_ , John Reese had time to grapple with his inability to act on his feelings for Harold Finch. Reese had became aware that his emotional connection ran deeper than friendship when Root had taken Finch almost two years ago. She’d only had him for three days but it seemed like forever and John still had nightmares Root had Harold in her clutches.

Despite _Harold Crane’s_ objections to the advances of _John Reeves_ , John knew Harold Finch, without a doubt wanted him: Reese not _Reeves_. What John had to figure out was how to overcome his own inability to express his desires and deep affection, love even, for Harold when they were Finch and Reese, not some aliases.

When John arrived at his destination, he turned over the keys and gave the attendant Harold’s detailed instructions for the care of the limo. Acting as _Crane’s_ chauffeur and agent, making sure every detail of the instructions were carried out to the letter left John little time to dwell on Reese’s personal problems.

The personnel at Valero’s were very efficient as well as fast. Within thirty minutes, John was on his way again and trying to decide what to do with the rest of the day. The morning had turned out beautiful and would remain sunny and sweet for the rest of the day according to the weather forecast. A walk in Bear’s favorite dog park would do them both good. John headed for Shaw’s place to pick up Bear.

Shaw, Harold Finch’s employee (his real one) had agreed to take Bear for the day while Harold worked at his _Crane_ identity and _John Reeves_  would drive him there. Neither man had any objections when Shaw had offered to take Bear.  

Whatever else John thought he might do today wouldn’t take up much time. Reese decided he would swing by the dog park around 3 pm or so and be back to the Crane building in plenty of time to pick up Harold.

Even while watching carefully that he wasn’t being followed, it wouldn’t be good for anyone to associate _Crane_ with one of Finch’s operatives, it still only took minutes to get to Shaw’s apartment building.

Shaw answered her door soon after John’s first knock. Her face was puzzled at first seeing John in uniform at her door. Then confusion turned into amusement followed by hoots of laughter as Shaw motioned him in. When she had her bout of hysterical laughter under control, she noticed John’s ‘It’s not funny glare’ and pulled him further into the apartment. “Okay, spill it! What’s got you all moody?” Shaw grinned and motioned Reese to sit down on her bed/couch.

John clenched and unclenched his fists, while he remained standing, then grated out, “Nothing that concerns you Shaw. I just decided to take Bear with me until Harold is done with his meeting.” Shaw eyed him, then shrugged, “Okay. Fine by me. I hate talking anyways.”

Shaw turned and walked to the nightstand where she has tossed Bear’s leash when it dawned on her, Finch and Reese were running their cover identities today. She’d been with the men long enough to have noticed either one or both of the men's behaviors were off sometimes for days after. Still, it was none of her business.

Reese reached for the leash, when Shaw pulled it back. “No! This is my business!” which was followed by John’s questioning angrily, “What the hell are you talking about?”

She retreated a step backwards, “Look, what happens between you two is kind of my business. I work for both of you, remember?” Taking a stab in the dark, she smirked, “What? He say no?” When John’s eyes widened she knew she’d gotten close to the mark. Shaw shrugged, and then probed unsympathetically, “Look I don’t care to know the details, but, should I be worried that yours and his emotional problems are gonna affect my employment?”

John had never wanted to open up to Shaw about anything personal, especially what was going on between Harold and himself. Sharing intimate details with his co-worker was the last thing in the world John ever wanted to do, so he was shocked with himself when he walked over and sat down. It all came rushing out in a combination of hesitancy and relief as John admitted. “He said ‘yes’, he always says ‘yes’.”

Shaw came over and sat down next to him nudging him in the shoulder, inquiring doubtfully, “So what’s the problem?”

John just shrugged, “He’s never said yes to John Reese and I’ve never asked Harold Finch. If that makes sense. I’m afraid he’ll get tired of the games one day and say ‘no’. I don’t want to lose him Shaw, but I don’t know how to tell him how **I** feel. Get it?”

Shaw hated talking about human interactions and reactions but recognizing them had kept her alive working for the NSA. Shaw sighed heavily then offered, “John, I’ve watched Harold after your ‘alias’ days, he either looks expectant or disappointed every time. I think he cares about you a lot and wants to tell you, but he’s unsure if you even feel the same. Why don’t you just man up and tell him, Reese to Finch?”

Shaw smiled and winked at him, then suggested. “Leave Bear here with me tonight. You have time to go get something to make him a nice romantic dinner. Take Harold to your place, **John Reese’s** home. Wine and dine him, then just tell him how **you** feel.”

John frowned, doubting it could be that simple. “Shaw thank you for the….”

John’s cell phone’s ring tone interrupted him before he could finish. John recognized Asherton’s phone number and answered, “This is Reese.”

Shaw watched John’s face ashen and when John terminated the call, she anxiously asked, “What’s wrong?”

It was unreal to hear John Reese answer in a strangled panicky voice, “They've got Harold!”

 

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One maybe two more chapters coming, this week. I promise.  
> Anyone reading Reincarnation I'll get a new chapter done there too.
> 
>  
> 
> **Reincarnation completed (finally)**


	4. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw’s teasing and conspiratorial demeanor dissipated in an instant, her stance snapping to attention, eyes widening with surprise and shock. “What? Who has Harold?” she demanded. 
> 
>  
> 
> “Nathan, are you drunk? Your apartment’s on Anders.” Harold looked blearily out the window and pointed at a tall well lit building maybe ten blocks away. “There Nathan, the penthouse.” Finch giggled, “I think I’m drunk too.” John wrapped his arm around Finch and pulled the drugged man to his side when Harold passed out. “Go Shaw! Now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reese and Shaw rescue a drugged Finch
> 
> The addresses are not real and the drug interactions are somewhat true I think but exaggerated for story purposes
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry. No excuse for the delay in writing this.

Shaw’s teasing and conspiratorial demeanor dissipated in an instant, her stance snapping to attention, eyes widening with surprise and shock. “What? Who has Harold?” she demanded.

Bear jerked his head up, ears pricked, sensing the tenseness now filling the room. His human pack mate was raising her voice at their alpha. The dog hearing the name of his master’s mate growled softly and jumped up from his blanket on the floor and trotted over between the two. Bear sat at John’s feet and nudged the man’s legs with his paw, the dog’s way of showing affection and support.

Shaw stood there impatiently waiting for an answer, her eyes honing in, following the motions of John’s hands. After first staring at the phone like it was something alien, he slipped it in his uniform pocket then reached down to absently pat Bear’s head while staring off at something distant, invisible.

“John!” Shaw reached out, grabbing the man’s shoulders and shook him none too gently. “Who…has…Harold?” John, the former CIA hit-man, who could pull teeth and remove fingers and not bat an eye, turned his head towards Shaw his eyes unfocused and his face blanched white.

Sameen Shaw wasn't much for gauging her own personal reactions to any situation with anything other than cold, hard and emotionless determination, but she could tell Reese’s were not those of an uncaring former ex-killer. Reese was just a human being confronted with the news someone they cared for was in a terrible situation. Reese was in shock. Taking a calming breath herself, she ran her hands up and down John’s upper arms soothingly. “John, try to focus,” she told him more calmly this time and prompted once more, “Who has Harold?”

Reese looked down, focusing on her now, the vacant far off look slowly being replaced by barely controlled anger. “That was Richard Asherton.” John huffed out. “He is the CEO of Crane Investment’s and the only living person besides you and I who knows Harold Crane doesn't exist,” John offered when Shaw raised her eyebrows questioningly. John swallowed hard trying to continue with out his seething rage taking control. “Harold tried to walk to a nearby sandwich shop when the meeting broke for lunch.” Reese clenched and unclenched his fists, then growled out, “Harold never made it. Some thugs grabbed him off the street.”

Reese walked over to Shaw’s apartment window and looked out. “They called Asherton first. He wanted to warn me. The kidnappers will be calling within the hour to give me their demands.” John voice cracked with the worry still bleeding through the contained fury, “Harold’s out there Shaw, hurt or maybe even dead by now.”

Shaw moved silently to stand next to Reese and looked out the window along with him. “Harold’s alive John. He has to be. We’ll wait for their call and find out what they want.” She paused then continued, her voice cold and deadly, “Then we’ll find the bastards, get Harold back, and give them what they deserve.”

The pair only had to wait five minutes before the call came through. Shaw tapped her earpiece to listen in. Reese answered with a blunt, “Yeah.”

“ _Hey, pretty boy. We got your boss here_ ,” the man on the other end hooted with laughter. Then with all humor gone, he threatened menacingly, “ _Bring $500,000 in small, unmarked bills to the abandoned warehouse on 108th and Ellis and you get your gimpy boss back. You've got two hours. You got that?”_

Reese answered, feigning acquiescence, “Yeah I got it.”

“ _Good. We have an understanding_ ,” the voice on the other end drawled out and then warned John like it had just occurred to the perp, “ _Oh, no cops! But you should know that, right?_ ”

“No cops,” John repeated the perp’s words in understanding. “I’ll bring you the money, just don’t hurt him, please?” Reese’s trembling plea wasn't entirely a pretense, John couldn't have kept the waiver out of his voice if he tried.

“ _The gimp is fine for now and as a gesture of good faith, we’ll show you_.” Reese lowered the cell from his ear, turning it so both he and Shaw could watch live video of a drugged Harold sitting on a wooden crate and tied to an old drain pipe. Shaw had to grab John’s arm in warning when a dark figure walked over to Finch and slapped him across the face causing Harold to moan in pain. The video cut off and the voice returned, “ _Do what we say or I let my friend have some more fun_.” Then the line went dead.

Reese, not thinking like an ex operative with his brain, but letting his desperation and anger control him, was ready to take off half-cocked without a plan. However, he stopped at the door when Shaw called out, “John! Wait!”

When Reese turned to look at her, Shaw lowered her voice and began reasoning with him. “I know you want to take care of everyone one of them. I do too. But we can’t go bull-rushing in, guns blazing; we’ll get Harold killed.

Shaw went over to the closet, rummaged around in it until she drug out a worn cardboard box full of unused clothing and other junk. Next, she stepped around the box and pulled a leather gym bag off the closet’s shelf. She tossed the gym bag on her bed. Then dug to the bottom of the box before pulling out a rolled up brown paper bag. Shaw turned it upside down and dumped its contents into its leather counterpart. She zipped it up and tossed the bag at Reese. “Not quite 500 gees but we’re not going to give them a chance to count it.”

“Shaw?” Reese drawled out. “What’s with the stash?”

“What? You’re gonna tell me you didn't have back-up funds ready in case things didn't work out between you and Finch in the beginning.” Shaw took Reese’s almost imperceptible nod as agreement.

“Now, let’s go get Harold!” Shaw told Reese as she brushed past him.

The drive to the warehouse took a little under ninety minutes giving them a good half-hour to scout out the warehouse and its surroundings from a distance through a pair of field glasses.

It was decided Shaw and Bear would use the cover of the empty buildings just as deserted as the warehouse they surrounded to avoid detection. The lone man guarding the front entrance wouldn't see them slip into the warehouse through the upper windows accessed by an old metal fire escape.

John waited and ten minutes later drove through the opened gate up to the building’s entrance after Shaw had confirmed her readiness through the earpiece, “We’re in John. Four perps visible and Harold. He’s alive.”

Reese slowly got out of the limo. With both the money bag in his right and his empty left hand held above his head where the armed guard had told him to raise them, John slowly walked through the open door and into the dimly lit interior.

Another man, John supposed might have been the ringleader, walked up to Reese and grabbed the bag from the hand John left still held above his head. The kidnapper hastily looked in the bag to see the rubber banded bundles of small bills.

Leering at John, he gave his insincere apologies before walking away and instructing the other armed men. “Kill them.”

A blur of brown jumping from an upper floor took down the man standing closest to Harold. In less than the second or two it took the other men to turn their heads to check out the commotion, they were all lying on the floor grabbing at their knees, screaming in pain.

John jumped over the man who had been the one to grab the money bag out of his hand and ran over to Harold. Reese pulled the three inch knife from his right boot and cut through the rope bindings.

“John?” Finch slurred trying to focus on the man cutting him loose. “I knew you would come for me,” Harold sobbed out.

Reese took Finch’s face in his hands brushing his thumbs across Harold’s cheeks wet from tears sliding down them. “Always!”

Their moment was interrupted by Shaw appearing alongside them, “Come on we got to get him out of here.” She bent down to grab one of Harold’s arms when she kicked a glass vial left setting next to the crate.

Bending down to pick it up, she read the label. “Damn it!” She handed the bottle to John knowing he would understand.

John went over to the man Bear had taken down and grabbed him by the shirt shoving the vial in his face. “How much did you give him?” When the man refused to answer, John got in his face, “Bear here will kill you if I give him the command. Now you want to tell me? How...much...did...you...give...him?” The man glanced nervously at the dog waiting anxiously for his master’s command and believing Bear would kill him, he blurted out, “Two doses. I don’t know how much. Dever over there drugged him up.”

Dever, the man in question, had passed out from the pain of being kneecapped and they didn't have time to bring him around. Fusco would be showing up soon with the drug task force.

Grabbing Harold's arms, one on each side of him, they walked him out to the limo. John climbed in the back with their drugged boss, as Shaw jumped into the driver’s seat. She had barely driven the car out the gate and down the street before the police arrived.

When they were far enough away to avoid detection she pulled the limo over and slid open the privacy screen. “John. They could have killed him with that shit. Finch is still going to get really sick if he took any dose of the _Lortabs_ recently that I know he takes for pain. We don’t have time to make it back to either of our places or the Library.”

John didn't know the location of all of Harold’s safe houses, but he was sure Finch had one near by. Reese didn't know if Finch could focus enough tell him but John tried asking Harold anyway. He gently turned Harold’s head to face him. Softly coaxing him, John asked Harold if he had any safe houses near 108th and Anders, the corner where Shaw had pulled over.

“Nathan, are you drunk? Your apartment’s on Anders.” Harold looked blearily out the window and pointed at a tall well lit building maybe ten blocks away. “There Nathan, the penthouse.” Finch giggled, “I think I’m drunk too.” John wrapped his arm around Finch and pulled the drugged man to his side when Harold passed out. “Go Shaw! Now!”

  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more to go


	5. Nathan's apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the ten minutes it took to drive to the underground parking structure below the posh apartment building, Harold had come to several times. John tried getting through to Finch, to explain what was happening, but the drugs were causing Harold to hallucinate, to confuse the past and the present.
> 
> Harold was semi-lucid at first and even tried to talk about the kidnapping, addressing John as John. Then his eyes glazed over and Finch lost consciousness again. John still held Harold close, wiping away the perspiration beginning to profusely cover Finch’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and but it's not the end.

In the ten minutes it took to drive to the underground parking structure below the posh apartment building, Harold had come to several times. John tried getting through to Finch, to explain what was happening, but the drugs were causing Harold to hallucinate, to confuse the past and the present.

Harold was semi-lucid at first and even tried to talk about the kidnapping, addressing John as John. Then his eyes glazed over and Finch lost consciousness again. John still held Harold close, wiping away the perspiration beginning to profusely cover Finch’s face.

Harold opened his eyes the second time smiling up at John lovingly, but confusing him for Nathan again, shushed John when he tried to speak, “I remembered your preferences. I believe the housekeeper stocked the bar with Tennessee Bourbon.”

Shaw had parked the limo in a space reserved for Wren. The concrete wall had been freshly painted over with the name Wren, but didn’t completely cover the faded lettering of Ingram.

There wasn’t anyone around so getting Harold inside unnoticed wasn’t going to be a problem, but they were parked close enough to the elevator door to see it was only accessible using a key, a key they didn’t have. Neither of them had thought about keys in their rush to get Harold to the apartment and that was the only way they were ever getting in the building from the garage.

Harold came around again and turned to look out the window. “Nathan, why are we waiting here? We need to go in. I’m not feeling too good. I think I might have to pass on that nightcap. This is the last time I’m going to an awards dinner with you Nathan Ingram.”

Reese decided pretending to be very inebriated Nathan might get a response from Harold more than trying to get through to him and slurred out “Harold I am drunk. I can’t find...the keys. I think I...forgot them.”

Harold giggled like a toddler and crowed, “Of course you can’t! You always need me! Me and my master key ring!” Finch pulled out a pouch under his shirt that held several keys with different color coded tips. He used his thumb and forefinger to hold up a purple key to his face. Harold jiggled the keys and laughed again. “See?”

“What would I do without you Harold?” John laughed back. “Let’s give these to the driver. We’re both too drunk to unlock anything.” John picked up the keys and handed them to Shaw after Finch had dropped the key ring on the floor trying to hand it off to a driver he couldn’t see.

Shaw got out of the limo and came around to the rear door Reese had opened. Between the two of them they managed to get Harold out of the car and walk him over to the elevator. Reese held Finch steady while Shaw used the keys.

“Nathan? Who’s this?” Harold swayed as he looked from Shaw then up at John.

“She’s my new driver.” John lied. “You remember Harold? Her name’s Shaw.”  

Harold let out a long suffering sigh. “Always the women, Nathan.”

John almost lost the hold he had on Finch when the man’s legs crumpled underneath him. Shaw tried to grab an arm but John scooped Finch up, cradling him like a small child. “I got him Shaw.” Reese nodded at the door and gently ordered, “Just get that door open.”

Once inside the elevator Shaw had a bit of trouble getting the key to work in the penthouse lock but it was only a few seconds before the lift began to rise taking them to the penthouse floor.

The elevator door opened to a small lobby. Directly to the right was a white and gold filigreed door, the only one on the floor. Reese motioned towards the door and Shaw went before him understanding what John wanted. John held tighter to his boss and followed her. Shaw fumbled for a moment finding the right key but had the door open without John having to wait too long.

Reese brushed passed her, down a small set of steps, and headed for what he assumed was a bedroom paying scant attention to main room’s furnishings. Reese went over to the queen sized bed and gently laid Finch down on it.

John could hear Shaw rummaging around in cupboards in another room as he removed Finch’s shoes and socks. Knocking at the door Shaw waited for John to look up, before she brought in a pitcher of water, a glass, a plastic dishpan and a towel tucked under one arm.

Shaw stopped in front of Reese, "Take these," she instructed nodding down towards her side. After setting the pitcher and glass on the nightstand, she turned to walk back out the door. “Finch is going to be violently sick, you won’t have time to get him in there,” she warned John pointing at the facility off to the side. “You know about possible seizures. Don’t try to hold him still, but do what you can to protect his neck. Try to keep him hydrated.” Shaw cautioned as she made for the door. “I’ll be out there if you need me. What he’s going to go through, he won’t want me to see.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again so sorry, but there is one more really long chapter to go.


	6. The Long Night, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sat down on the bed after he heard the faint clicking of the door’s latch as Shaw closed the door behind her. “Well, Harold, I need to get you out of these clothes. You don’t want to ruin your suit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried but the night is only half over and the chapter is huge.  
> Please don't shoot me!

John sat down on the bed after he heard the faint clicking of the door’s latch as Shaw closed the door behind her. “Well, Harold, I need to get you out of these clothes. You don’t want to ruin your suit,” John suggested to his unconscious friend.

Reese thought it best to strip Harold down to t-shirt and boxers. He managed to remove Finch’s jacket, vest, and dress shirt easily considering Harold was dead weight and blacked out. John had already removed Harold’s belt and was starting to undo the fly when a shaky hand closed over one of his.

“John...? What are you doing?” Finch blinked twice trying to focus on Reese. “How did we get here?” Harold asked looking around still dazed. “I never told you about this place.”

“ _John_ now is it,” Reese frowned. He used the towel to wipe Harold’s sweat covered face. “Finch you were kidnapped, remember?” Harold’s eyes filled with fear as it all came rushing back. Reese hurried to reassure him. “It’s okay now. Shaw and I came for you. You're safe.” John ran the back of his fingers across Harold’s cheek calming him. “They drugged you with Ambien.”

“I took some Lortabs, John.” Harold choked out.

John nodded. “We figured you might have and worried about possible side effects. We had to get you somewhere safe, someplace close to the warehouse. We knew you wouldn’t want us to take you to a hospital. ” Reese continued seeing that Finch understood. “I tried asking you to tell us if you had a safe house nearby but you were already hallucinating. You thought I was Ingram and pointed out his old apartment, so we brought you here.”

“And my clothes?” Harold was caressing John’s other hand, the one still holding on to the waistband of Finch’s suit pants. John blushed slightly at the touch, “I didn't want you to ruin them.”

“Of course, the drugs.” Finch murmured as he closed his eyes and let go of Reese’s hand. ”I can’t be myself and have you wanting to get me out of my clothes.” It pained John to hear Finch sound so sad and rejected. “You are so wrong Harold, I want you more than I've wanted anyone. I was afraid you didn't want me… _John Reese._ ” John groaned in frustration when he realized he was admitting his feelings to a senseless man.

“Harold…” John whispered softly, removing Finch’s glasses before he gently wiped the other man’s face once more. Reese then kissed him on the forehead before standing up. “Let’s finish getting these off,” John huffed out as he resumed tugging Harold’s suit pants off. He then covered the nearly nude man with the coverlet that had been folded at the foot of the bed.

While hoping the worst was over, that the hallucinations were the only adverse effect to happen to Finch, John knew better and started stripping himself until all he wore were the uniform pants.

John watched Finch for a short time before deciding it would be safe to slip into the bath and grab another towel to wet with cold water. John was only in there a few minutes before returning to the bedroom and finding Finch sitting straight up in bed with his hands clutching his stomach.  

“Nathan….” Harold groaned, “I think I’m going to be sick!”

Reese didn't spare a second’s thought that he was _Nathan_ again, he just shoved the pillows aside and slid in behind Finch on the bed positioning Harold between his outstretched legs. John had barely grabbed the dishpan, sitting it in Finch’s lap with one hand and wrapping his free arm around Harold’s waist before Harold vomited. The first spasms were so violent Reese shed sympathetic tears along with Harold at their painful intensity.

Harold leaned back on John’s shoulder panting when the spasms eased up. “Nathan, you don’t need to do this.”

“Of course I do. You are always there for me,” John assured the trembling man before he kissed the top of Finch’s head and held him tight to his chest.

The second bout of vomiting started ten minutes later. It wasn't as severe or lasted as long as the first but not by much. Reese cleaned Harold’s face with the wet towel then offered him a few sips of water that Finch drank thirstily. John took the water away, kindly warning, “Careful, not too much,” before setting the glass back on the stand. John leaned back against the headboard pulling Finch back to rest against his own chest.

John was rubbing his hand over Harold’s stomach soothingly when Finch reached over and grabbed John’s hand. Harold sobbed, “I've missed you Nathan. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.” Finch sniffed and swallowed,  “I’m helping them now Nathan, the Numbers, but I couldn't do it alone. I found someone, a partner. His name is John Reese. You’d like him.”

“I’m sure I would,” Reese agreed when Harold paused, seemingly waiting for a response.

“Nathan, I’m in love with him,” Harold confided to his illusion, “but I don’t know if he loves me.”  Harold admitted sadly, “You never loved me. Grace loved a facsimile not the real me. I want John to want me, not some alias. I want him to love me.” Harold was choking back tears, “It’s like with you and with Grace all over again. John doesn't want the real me. You never loved or wanted the real Harold,” Finch sniffed, “Not like I wanted you to.”

Harold fell silent. Reese thought he’d blacked out again and was going to move off the bed to lay Finch on his back when Harold breathed in deeply and sighed, waving off his next words sadly, “Then there was Grace. I pretended to be someone I’m not. She loved that Harold not me. And like Grace, John seems to only want the fictional version of me.” Finch dropped his hand back in his lap and groaned, “What’s wrong with me?”

“Harold!” John protested.

Finch whimpered, “What’s so wrong with me Nathan?” and looked up at John with wide, sad, questioning eyes.

Reese would rather have strangled Ingram right then, not pretend to be him, but tried to answer anyway, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You have always sold yourself short. You always think no one wants you, that you have to give them a version of you they want. Maybe I’m to blame for that. But you are wrong. Grace loved the real you that shone through and John loves you more than his own life.”

“If only I could be sure. Nathan….” Another round of vomiting started before Finch could finish his sentence. Thankfully the spasms were mild this time and lasted only a few seconds before Finch leaned back into John’s chest breathing heavily again.

Reese offered him several more sips of water before taking the glass away and poured cold water from the pitcher onto the towel.

As John used the wet towel to cool Finch’s forehead. He continued their interrupted conversation as if nothing had happened. “Harold, can any of us really be sure? All we can do is look for clues.”

“Oh God! Nathan!” Finch’s muscles were beginning to seize. Just a slight twitching, nothing severe. Nonetheless, it terrified the drugged man. John closed his eyes praying it wouldn't get worse.

Reese moved the sick-pan to the floor then cradled Finch to him and sat back. “Shh. It’s okay I've got you,” John whispered kissing the now sweat soaked hair on Finch’s head. Then hoping to distract Harold asked aloud, “Does John seek your company?”

“What?” Finch gritted through his teeth.

“Does John seek your company?” Reese repeated calmly.

Harold tilted his head to look with glassy eyes up at John. “Yes,” Finch admitted raggedly. “I was rude, terribly rude to him when we first met.” Finch closed his eyes and smiled slightly remembering, “He’d still bring me donuts and tea, my Sencha Green, and sit with me even when we had no Numbers.” Harold's eyes flew back open and he groaned grabbing at his thigh muscles.

“Relax Harold. It’s going to be okay.” John whispered soothingly. “Tell me more about your John,” Reese coaxed.

Harold drew in a shaky breath then continued, “I was short with him, even when I tried not to be. You know how I am when I’m working.”

John chuckled, “Yeah I remember.”

“Nathan,” Finch scolded fondly and sighed exasperatedly.

“But John never got upset; he would just try to get me to take a break and go out for a meal or a beer with him. I’d turn him down, even though it’s what I wanted to do. I would assume John had gone on without me.” Harold frowned, “I’d be disappointed that he’d left and mad at myself for being so stubborn.”

The fondness returned in Finch’s voice when he said, “Then there he would be, hauling up a bag full of weapons from his arsenal stash.” Harold snickered, “Which I haven’t found by the way. Don’t tell him!"

"I’d pretend to be mad when he would start cleaning them at the table. I would ask him, _Must you do that here?_ But John would smile that smile of his and tell me, _No, I could stay downstairs but I would rather have the company_.”

Harold fell silent for a few moments. Reese hoped sleep had claimed him. Then Harold shifted and gasped, he whispered as if amazed at his realization,  “John **wants** to be around **me** \---rude, stubborn, insufferable **me**.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time no promises, maybe one more to go and then a more explicit epilogue for those who want it if not well stop reading when morning comes.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh the epilogue for Reincarnation is in the works. (Posted finally.)


	7. Long Night Into Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intertwining John’s fingers with his own, Harold searched Reese’s face, a mixture of fear and hope in his own eyes. “You were pretending to be Nathan. Nathan...you...told me I only had to look. I would see that you loved me. I am looking now.”
> 
> “What do you see Harold?”
> 
> Harold eyes seemed to be boring into John’s very soul. “A man who loves me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry it took a month to finish this.
> 
> No excuses.

Harold humphed to himself then was quiet, even though his muscles still twitched and rippled. John felt Finch’s body tremors vibrate deeply into his own body. Reese wanted nothing more than to hold Harold tightly to him and will the spasms to go away. But all John could do was wrap his arms loosely around Finch’s waist. He could only use his chest and shoulder as a buffer protecting Harold’s neck while Finch’s head convulsed as a drumbeat against him. Reese couldn't stop the sob that escaped his throat. Frustration teared his eyes because he couldn't do a damn thing to stop any of this.

A trembling hand clasped his own then. “You don’t...have to stay...Nathan…I’ll be fine.” Harold gulped out brokenly.

John blinked the moisture out of his eyes, pulled free from Harold’s right hand only to grasp it under his own palm, tracing its knuckles with his thumb, “I’m not going anywhere.” John could continue trying to distract Harold though by keeping him talking, “Besides, I want to hear more about your John, before I go. How does he treat you?”

“Treat me, Nathan?” Harold asked again through gritted teeth.

“Is he good to you?”

“Yes.” Harold sighed.

John waited for Finch to continue and prodded gently when Harold said no more. “Tell me, he does more than bring you tea?”

Harold sniffed almost disdainfully, “He brought me a dog. It chewed a rare Asimov the first day. I didn't even want that dog in the Library after seeing the mangled book in his mouth.”

“A dog!?” John played along. “You hate dogs.”

“I don’t hate them. I just never had any use for them.” Harold corrected loftily. “Except Bear.” Finch confessed, his voice lowering with affection. “He..protects me. Bear is a loyal companion and friend.” And amazement tinged Harold’s voice again, “Just like John, I think Bear also enjoys being around me. And..I love having Bear with me. He keeps me from being lonely when I need to be alone.” Harold took a few shaky breaths, “Bear is not just a dog, Nathan, he’s a precious gift to me. Do you think John knows?”

“I think John wishes he could be there to protect you all the time. He can’t, so he got you the next best thing.”

Finch chuckled to himself, “Yes, well, Bear is the canine equivalent to John.” Harold paused briefly, then his tone became serious, “Ex-military, abused and betrayed by handlers they trusted. They both needed rescuing.” Modestly Finch admitted, “John’s thanked me for saving him, although to me it has always been the other way around. If I have, then he certainly has returned the favor more than once.”

“John rescued Bear.” Harold continued reflectively, “Then he gave Bear to me. John’s still returning that favor, trying to keep me safe, even when he can’t be there himself.” Harold scolded himself, “I should praise John for bringing Bear to me.  If John doesn't know how deeply appreciated Bear’s presence is in my life then I am to blame for not speaking up.”

Harold sighed then grumbled affectionately, “Now, if only I could get them to treat my books with more respect.”

Reese buried his face behind Harold’s shoulder hiding a grin and stifling a chuckle. John had never wanted to maul any of Finch’s books, had even enjoyed reading a few, but on the appreciation scale for Harold’s precious rare editions Reese’s was closer to Bear’s.

Harold shrugged his shoulders, “Still, disdain for the love of rare volumes aside, I am so lucky to have them as my family.”

John snapped his head up, completely surprised by Harold’s confession. He had been elated watching Harold and Bear grow close. Reese knew Finch had put up with the dog in the beginning, probably just to placate John, but to watch them bond together over time had filled John’s heart with joy, but to hear Harold call Reese and Bear his family was a shock.

“Family?” John tried to hide the surprise in his voice.

Reese hadn't noticed, so intent hearing Harold's admissions, that while he had kept Finch talking the spasms that had been racking Harold’s body had tapered off and ceased. Reese could tell the other man was beginning to doze off when Harold was silent again. Maybe John should have let him go to sleep. It might have been a bit selfish, but Reese needed know what Harold had meant by family.

John re-positioned them both on the bed slightly just enough to wake Harold. Then he repeated his question, “Family?”

Harold sighed wistfully. “Not a traditional family, like you, your wife and son, Nathan. I might have had one with Grace; I truly believed I wanted to start a family with her when I proposed. Now, I know it wouldn't have lasted, our life together was based on a foundation of lies.”

Finch paused briefly, curbing the sadness that had colored his words about what would never be, before he swallowed and took a deep breath. Harold reached across his chest with his left hand to lightly place it on John’s right, the one still caressing Harold’s other hand before Finch spoke again, unwavering.

John heard the affection and conviction in the strength of Harold’s words. “John, Bear and even Miss Shaw, they are my family now. I love them all, dearly.  And I am **completely** , **totally** in love with John Reese. He may not know my name, no one does, not even you, Nathan, but everything that is important in who I am, what I am, I've never held back from John.”

“Well there is one thing,” Harold admitted. “I never told him where I live. That I've been living here since the accident. I’m going to tell him. I’m going to tell him...everything.”

Harold told himself softly yet sternly. “No secrets“

Then again to the friend he thought he was speaking to Harold confided, “John knows and accepts me. I thank you for helping me to understand that Nathan. Now if I could only be sure that John could possibly return my love.”

Harold gasped out, pulling both his hands away from Reese’s before sitting up and clutching at his stomach. “Do you think…John...loves me?”

Reese tried to let Harold know, answering once again as the illusion of Finch’s best friend Nathan, “Yes John loves you, it is obvious if you look my friend.” But Finch was in pain, holding his clenching middle and didn't seem to hear a word Nathan/John said.

Fortunately the cramping lasted briefly, the nausea and vomiting thankfully had finally stopped. When Harold lay back against John he was gasping for breath, but otherwise seemed okay. The coolness of Harold’s undershirt touching his bare skin made John aware that Finch’s t-shirt and boxers were drenched from Harold’s sweat. Slowly moving out from behind Harold, John slid from the bed while gently lowering Finch against the pillows still propped against the headboard.

Harold’s eyes stayed closed as his breathing slowed and evened out, but Finch called out “Nathan?” when he felt John move away from the bed.

John reached down and gently clasped Harold’s shoulder, “I’ll be right back. Just going into the bathroom to get something to wash you up and dry you off.”

Harold nodded his head slightly, but stayed silent.

Reese waited a few minutes, then picked up the towel and the dishpan to head for the bath to clean them both out. Harold had finally fallen asleep and John thought he wouldn't even notice his soiled undergarments being removed or Reese washing him up with a soapy towel dipped in the clean dishpan filled with warm water.

Reese stripped Harold from his soaked clothes and covered him from the waist down with a sheet. Finch barely stirred as John washed his face and neck before wiping one arm, then the other. When he was almost finished washing Finch’s chest, Harold opened his eyes looking at John fuzzily, blinking it away.

“John? You've been here the whole time.” Harold frowned at his words, realizing more than questioning. John could tell he was sorting through the night’s events in his mind so Reese spoke up.

“Yes. We brought you here. You had a pretty rough night. I've been taking care of you. Shaw’s in the other room if we need her.”

“I think I’m fine now, John. Miss Shaw can check on me later. I need to know something first.” Harold looked at John clear eyed and hopeful.

“Okay Harold. Ask away.” John couldn't control the loving look that covered his face or the happiness in the smile he gave back.

“I thought you were Nathan.” Harold acknowledged that in his delirium he had thought to be speaking to his friend. “I admitted my feelings about you to him.”

“Yes.” John’s smile grew wider. “You told him--me--quite a few things.”

“I meant them, every word, John.” Harold held Reese’s gaze letting John see the love, truth, and hope written across his face.

“I know, Harold. I think I've always known. I just let my fear that you couldn't ever love me, the real John Reese, hold me back from believing any of our times together might be real. It was easier for me to pretend than risk being hurt if you couldn't.”

Harold reached up and stroked John’s face lovingly. “It was the same for me. Afraid you could never love the real me, afraid to act, saving myself from the pain of rejection by pretense. I love you John, I love John Reese.”

Harold slowly lowered his hand from John’s face, sliding it down Reese’s bare shoulder and arm, stopping at the hand John hadn't removed from Finch’s chest after Harold had opened his eyes.

Intertwining John’s fingers with his own, Harold searched Reese’s face, a mixture of fear and hope in his own eyes. “You were pretending to be Nathan. Nathan...you...told me I only had to look. I would see that you loved me. I am looking now.”

“What do you see Harold?”

Harold eyes seemed to be boring into John’s very soul. “A man who loves me.”

“More than life itself.” John bent his head to kiss Harold sweetly, gently on the lips.

“I am not myself yet John. Sleep, just sleep with me now?” Harold pleaded when John raised his head from their kiss. “I want to make love with John Reese when I wake again.”

John stripped himself and crawled into bed with a still naked Harold. “Harold, I never…” Harold slipped an arm under John’s side and pulled him closer, “It’s okay, we can shower together later.”

John reached out pulling the sheet and the comforter over them both. Harold whispered into the half light of early morning, ”John, you are in my home and in my bed.” Harold turned and whispered in John’s ear, “My name is…” Both men fell asleep seconds after their hushed, ”I love you, John. I love you too...Harold.”

 ***

Sam Shaw woke up to sunlight warming her face. She slowly got up from the couch, muscles complaining from eight hours spent sleeping on the rock hard cushions. She tiptoed over to the bedroom door before slowly and quietly opening the it.

Both men were naked, bare arms and legs sticking out from under sheet and blanket. She shut the door quickly, two unclothed men in bed was something she really did not want to see for more than the few seconds it took for her to decide that Finch was okay.

Regardless Shaw had a smile on her lips as she patted Bear, told the dog to watch out for them and then let herself out of the apartment.

 ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story ends here John and Harold, Reese and Finch are together. No more games just love.
> 
> There will be smex in the morning for any who wish to read on.
> 
> Soon!!! I swear.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's late afternoon, Shaw has left. Bear lays curled outside the bedroom door, eyes closed but ears alert. Harold and John awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is. Finally. Hope you enjoy.  
> This chapter is more explicit...be forewarned.

John awoke to faint scratching on the closed bedroom door. Harold was still sleeping soundly, soft snores making his lips puff out as he exhaled. Reese slipped out of bed, gathered his scattered clothing and shoes then padded quietly out of the room. Bear was waiting patiently on the other side of the bedroom door. Shaw wasn't anywhere to be seen, so instead of sneaking into the guest bath to dress, he dropped onto the now empty sofa. The ex-chauffeur quickly pulled on his pants, then his undershirt, slipped on his shoes, grabbed one of Bears leashes hanging by the entrance door and took the Malenois for his morning, well afternoon walk.

There was a designated pet area in the spacious grounds surrounding Nathan's, no Harold's apartment building. There was even a discreetly constructed kiosk with everything necessary for cleaning up after your canine for the convenience of tenants too rushed to come prepared. Bear didn't seem to notice that his alpha was in a hurry to get back upstairs. Bear leisurely sniffed around every bush and tree in the pet area. After several minutes of this investigation, John groaned out pleadingly, "Come on Bear, do your thing. We need to get back before your Papa wakes up." Bear twitched his ears a bit, looked up at his tall master, who was sure the dog rolled his eyes as if to say, “What? You think he won’t be there when we go back up?” But the canine finally got down to business. After a quick clean-up, man and dog bounded up the stairs too rushed to wait for the elevator.

“Sorry buddy, you can’t come in right now. Blijf Bear.” John murmured low while opening the bedroom door as quietly as he could. After the door closed in front of him, Bear lay down and curled up. The dogs eyes closed, but his ears flicking back and forth were signs the dog wasn’t trying to sleep. He was just keeping silent watch.

John closed the door behind him clenching his eyes shut momentarily when the latch’s clicking shut sounded ten times too loud in the silence of the room. Harold only stirred for a second before the soft snores started up once more. Reese smiled to himself watching his soon to be true lover and thinking, “Drool at the corner of his mouth, sleep mussed hair, morning stubble shadow and sour morning breath most likely, but that man couldn’t be more handsome to me right now.” John toed off his shoes, stripped again on his way to sliding back into the bed. After kissing the older man on the forehead Reese laid his head on the hairy chest and drifted back off to sleep once more.

A hand carding through his hair and a clearing of a throat awakened John once again that afternoon. “Mr. Reese? The throat cleared once more, “Mmm…John?  I…um…need to get up.”

“Oh,” John mumbled half asleep, “OH!” then quickly sat up his back leaning against the headboard. “Sorry, I went earlier when I exercised Bear a couple hours ago. You go ahead. I’m going to give Shaw a call. See if she made it home okay and tell her you seem to be fine now.” John leaned over and playfully began twirling some of Finch’s chest hair in his fingers, then teasingly added, “And then we can get that shower together you promised me this morning….Harold.”

Finch rolled his eyes at the thought of Miss Shaw making it anywhere, anyway other than okay, but his face began blushing while his fingers plucked at the edges of the sheet covering his lower half. “Mr. Reese…John…I’m not wearing anything."

Reese had to contain the smile threatening to take over his face; not wanting to insult the older man’s sense of modesty, especially when there wasn’t much left to the imagination after he had cared for the drugged man last night, “Just a second then.” John got up not ashamed of his own nudity, preening and flexing a bit while he moved to the bath. Reese then tossed his bashful bed-mate the robe that was hanging on the other side of the bath’s door. “I’m still going to make that call,” but John made sure Harold got a good eyeful of his naked ass as he bent over to pull the cellphone from his discarded jacket pocket. John turned to look back and winked when he heard his partner swallow loudly, “I’ll join you in a bit.” Then he slipped from the bedroom to give Harold a modicum of privacy.

Shaw almost bit John’s ear off through the phone, annoyed at being woke up and answered abruptly, “Good. I’m glad Harold’s fine. Now, I’m going back to sleep. Good-bye.” It was only a sixty second phone call at the most and less than that for Reese to make it into the en-suite bath, but by the time he reached to pull open the frosted glass door to the shower the mirror was already fogged up and the room filled with steam.

Harold was lathering shampoo into his hair, eyes closed. He jumped a bit when John pulled his hands down and hummed silkily in his ear, “Here, let me. Keep your eyes closed.” The man had killed others with his bare hands before meeting the person those same hands were now gently, sensually washing. First the hair: Reese’s fingers massaged the man’s scalp before carefully rinsing away the shampoo with its hints of balsam. Second the body: John used a sponge he filled with a body wash smelling of a unique blend of spices, the bottle an odd shape with a label of artwork, the words including the name written in French.

Harold tensed slightly when John brushed his hands or the sponge over the scars on his neck, but never tried to stop him, not until the sponge lowered over the crippled man’s back and the damaged hip. “John …please…can you stop? I thought I was ready, but I don't think I am.”

Reese reached around to turn the water off, positioned Harold to face him, pulled his lover to his chest and began kissing the top of his head. “Shhh. Yes, you are. You’re still having doubts, but don’t. I’ve touched you. I’ve certainly seen all of you. These…,” John lovingly traced his fingers along the scars on the marred neck, down the jarring red lines on Harold’s back, stopping to rest his hand on the ridges and divots that criss-crossed a stiff hip, “don’t make me want you less.”

John stepped back and grabbed one of Harold’s hands placing it palm flat on his own chest over his heart. “Feel that? That rapid beating? It’s because I wanted you. I still do, very much. Touching you, seeing you. You do this to me.”

Harold watched his lover’s face as John’s eyes closed in bliss. Harold looked down as John’s right hand gripped John’s own hardening shaft. Harold gasped and his own eyes widened.

John heard Harold's sharp intake of breath and took this as encouragement. “You know how many times I’ve done this? Pleasured myself while picturing you watching me in my mind?” John stroked his cock harder and faster, moaning brokenly, “You think...you think...now that...now that...I have seen you...all of you…I am turned off?”

Opening his eyes to look directly into Harold’s still doubting ones, John reached out with his left to clasp the other man’s shoulder, “Can’t… you… see… what... you… do… to… me?” snapping his hips and fucking into his fist in time with every keening word. When he felt his balls draw up, John moved his left to lightly hold the back of Harold’s head and lowering his own to kiss the slightly shocked man passionately on the lips, mewling against his mouth while coming hard – John’s ejaculate a line of white on Harold’s belly.

“Please tell me you believe me, please Harold,” John panted while catching his breath a moment later his forehead pressed against the older man’s.

Harold placed each of his hands on either side of John’s face lifting his head up and back so he could look into John’s eyes, “Yes, I believe I do now. No, I know I do. I am terribly sorry for doubting you, for doubting your wanting me for even a second. As I watched you bring me my robe I couldn’t believe my fate that someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you could love me or want me.”  Harold lowered his head and sighed. “Then I looked in the mirror and saw this wreck of a body. My insecurity that no one would ever want a scarred up old man like me crept unwanted back into my mind. When you started touching… them… I panicked. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

Harold sounded troubled, “However, we still have one problem. What do we do now that we have made a mess of everything?”

John’s thoughts ran a hundred different ways, trying to think of some way to fix the mess until Harold raised his head back up with a shy smile and mischievous eyes, but in all seriousness fussed, “I rather think we need to resume our shower, there is something quite sticky drying tackily on my stomach.”

John roared with laughter before hungrily kissing his once again lover.

Under the seemingly never ending supply of hot water, both men spent the next twenty minutes washing each other when they weren’t kissing each other passionately on the lips. With the smell of exotic spices permeating the shower, John knelt, nibbling and licking Harold’s body especially his scars before taking the older man’s deliciously, thickly round and long cock into his mouth, sucking hungrily on the cockhead.

Harold was amazed at how wonderfully good it felt to have John’s warm mouth wrapped around the head of his growing shaft. He tried not thrust into it even with John’s hands splayed across the cheeks of his ass, urging him on. It had been so long since he had climaxed last, Harold grabbed both of John’s shoulders trying to pull him off. “John. John! Please stop!”

John pulled off and looked up concerned, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. No you didn’t. But if you would have kept that up, it would have been over too soon. I want to finish this in my--our bed-- making love.

John stood up and reached around his now eager lover to once again turn off the shower. He backed out the shower door, pulling Harold along with him and wrapping him in one of the nearly sheet sized bath towels hanging on the towel bar. John grabbed the bath towel’s double off another bar and seductively began drying himself off, making sure his mate noticed the raging hard-on he was sporting once again. Once he dried himself off, John helped Harold to do the same, kissing him while drying and walk-carrying him out of the bath into the bedroom until their progress was stopped by their bed.

“John, the sheets, we need to change them.” Harold croaked having been too out of it earlier to notice the sheets along with the pillowcases smelling heavily of sweat and vaguely of throw-up. He was slightly miffed with having to wait even for a minute. Changing sheets with an erection hard enough to pound nails was an inconvenience to say the least, but having sex in a smelly bed wasn’t the way John wanted Harold to remember their first time together either.

“Where are the clean sheets?” John groused.

Harold frowned at the hint of annoyance in the question, turned slightly and nodded direction towards the bath, “Back in there, in the linen closet.”

Reese laughed at himself when he picked out a set of pale blue almost matching the color of Harold’s eyes. “I’m like a schoolgirl with her first crush,” the former CIA assassin chuckled then hurried back out.

John made quick work of changing the sheets but still tried to make a sexy display of it after noticing Harold’s troubled look that he had somehow spoiled the mood with with his ill-timed request. The linens now fresh and clean, John helped his partner back into bed, his look of distress replaced by one of unbridled desire.

Harold had watched John flaunting that body, bending and stretching at the task, raw need heating Harold up inside until he was about ready to forget clean bedding. Instead, not wanting to wait another second to continue what John had started in the shower.

When he was comfortably propped on a mound of pillows, Harold eagerly awaited as John stretched out next to him. “I’m afraid I may have dampened your desire with this delay,” his eyes apologetic as they looked at John’s now semi-flaccid manhood.

“Not a problem,” John husked out before carefully covering Harold’s body with his own and kissing him hungrily while rubbing his own cock against the one below. John stopped to raise his head and look down at Harold’s face after a few moments, “I do need to finish what I started in the shower,” then started kissing or licking down his lover’s body until reaching Harold’s cock and lavishing it the same attention.

John licked up a thick blue vein, across the head’s ridge, into its slit, before drawing the head into his mouth and suckling.

This time though John held Harold down with one hand to prevent Harold trying to push up into his mouth. With the other he carefully palmed Harold’s balls while John fucked the man’s cock with his mouth, listening to his whimpered moans of pleasure. Feeling the testes draw up in his hand, John fully took the long shaft into his mouth, head at the back of his throat. He ignored Harold’s attempt to pull him off and his gasped warning, “John!” John then swallowed and swallowed as his lover came in his mouth, listening to Harold's  keening moans of pleasure.

John let Harold’s softening organ slip from his mouth and raised up to look upon his face. When Harold’s afterglow had ebbed enough to realize John was hard still, he huskily asked, “What about you?”

“Just touch me, wrap your hand around me,” John moaned low and desperate while grabbing Harold’s right hand and helping it down there.

Harold was willing to oblige and grasped John’s shaft firmly. It only took a few pumps into that hand before John came all over it.

**~~~**

An hour later after John had cleaned them both up, he had his head once more on Harold’s chest.

While he was running his fingers through John’s hair Harold worriedly asked, “Was this good for you? I’m afraid I really am quite a novice.”

“It was perfect and it will only get better. What you don’t know, I will show you. What neither of us know, we’ll figure it out…together. I’ll never leave you Harold, I love and need you.”

Finch smiled at the ceiling and whispered. “I could never leave you John. I will always love you too.”

*******

An odd scent was finally making its way under the bedroom door. Bear took a deep sniff then sneezed. He whined high in the back of his throat and turned away. As he resettled with his head on his front paws, he wondered when the puppies would be born and if he would be expected to train them.

~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our family of four live happily ever after. Saving the numbers becomes the family business. TM watches over them all.


End file.
